I try to keep the subject of our conversation away from the funeral, knowing that would be the last thing Holden feels like talking about right now.
Holden’s parents were such fun, loving people. I don’t think they could have loved Holden more if they tried. Holden’s dad was one of the most honest, respectable people I have ever known. And that is saying a lot considering he was a lawyer. Holden’s mom was a beloved teacher at the elementary school we had attended as children. She could warm your heart with a smile. They always made sure Holden knew he was loved and taken care of. They, too, saw the pain that is always behind Holden’s eyes, and spent their lives trying to erase it.
“How long do you plan on staying down here?” Holden still lives in Connecticut after getting his degree at Yale. I keep ignoring the voice in my head wishing he would say he’s staying the summer.
He doesn’t answer, just shrugs his shoulders and guzzles some more of his beer.
“Okay then, change of subject. How have you been? I miss talking to you. It’s weird not knowing anything about you anymore.”
He takes another sip, licking a drop from his bottom lip again, unknowingly turning me to mush. He slowly puts his beer down and glances up at me in a way that sends shivers surging through my body. “I’m good, well, besides the obvious. I passed the bar. I know my dad wants…wanted,” he corrects himself, “he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. You know, save the world from evil.” He laughs sadly to himself. Something in the way he speaks tells me he knows exactly what his next step is going to be, but I don’t push him.
“What else in the world would you do besides follow in your dad’s footsteps, Holden? All you have ever wanted to be since I met you was a lawyer. No one can bullshit their way through an argument better than you,” I say, trying to take some of his pain away.
He pushes my shoulder, and then gave it a stiff punch just like he did when we were kids. Yep, some things never change.
“I do have an undeniable knack for being able to recall facts to support an argument better than anyone.” He smiles a real smile and takes another sip of his new beer.
“Or for twisting the facts to support your argument.” I smile too, glad to see he is starting to relax a little.
“Yeah well, I am still trying to figure it all out, but I’m good. Don’t worry about me; I’m always good.” His face turns serious again and he looks away, staring back out to the lagoon.
“How about you, Camryn? How’s the writing going?”
I’ve just started a job writing a blog piece for the New Yorker magazine’s website. I have secret hopes that one day my contribution will help me land a column in the magazine.
“It’s good. I’m excited to have the blog, but it’s not exactly riveting material. My last blog was about the best places to find a successful man in the city.”
He chuckles despondently. “You always turn everything into something special, Cam. I know this will turn into something great too.”
I have no doubt that I am blushing and I hate myself for it. I roll my eyes, trying to hide the effect his words have on me. “Thanks, Holden.”
We sit there and finish off the beers and are now on to a “nightcap.” We’re both far more relaxed now thanks to the beverages and are laughing and telling old stories like old friends. The way I wish it always could be with us. There have been so many fun times here with our families that a part of me wishes for it all back. We’ve spent virtually every holiday and birthday together since we were kids, and now nothing will ever be the same again. The Patricks were the lifeline keeping Holden here. Deep down inside, I know now that they’re gone, there really is no reason for him to stay.
Without warning, in the middle of me reenacting his horrid dance moves at prom, Holden stands up from the dock, pulling me up against him. He’s clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol as much as I am at this point, making our bodies sway dangerously close to the edge of the dock. My body crashes into his, leaving no space between us while I try to steady myself. We are both standing completely still as if we’re not sure what to do next. My mind and my heart are having a silent battle inside me. I can feel his shallow breaths on the top of my head as he holds me tight against his taut body. A shiver shoots up my arm when his fingers slowly interlace with mine. I smile shyly and look down, stepping away, knowing it has to be the alcohol making him act this way with me.
He smiles too, knowing the reason for my retreat from his touch and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends.
“So Cam, tell me something. How are things with you and Marcus?” He turns and casually strides up to the bar on my deck, grabbing us each a bottled water as if the moment before had never happened.
I am quick to answer. “We are great. Couldn’t be better. I think he is going to propose soon.” That should sterilize the moment.
“Wow,” is all he says, taking a drink from his bottle, with a lost expression. “Guess that’s it then, huh.” He stands there and finishes off the bottle into his glass.
I slowly sip my own drink, hoping it will help clear my head. I try not to think about what he meant by that. I hate when he says things that make me think he could still love me, still want to be with me. I know he really doesn’t and never will again. He’s done a good job at making sure of it over the years. So I tell myself it’s just the alcohol talking.
I gain the confidence to finally look back up at him, only to see Holden staring at me from the deck with an intense expression. I can’t break my gaze from his when he quickly walks back over to me and takes my hand in his. Without a word, he leads me over to the wicker bench between our houses. This is our spot. I know I shouldn’t sit here with him, but can’t stop myself. Holden’s face is filled with something so powerful, that I will do anything he asks of me right now.
His strong fingers are laced between mine when we sit far too close together on the bench. My heart begins racing again as the fingers of his other hand brush across mine. How can he still make me feel this way? I’ve never looked at anyone like this but him. I’ve never felt like this with anyone but him.
He sweetly brushes the long curls off my face that had fallen out of my braid, still not speaking. I look down at the ground, too afraid of what is happening between us right now. I can feel the fire burning between us and it’s terrifying me for so many different reasons. I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way again, and it scares me. Holden is hurting. I am hurting, but it doesn’t always have to be this way with us. We. Can. Be. Friends.
“Cam,” he breaths my name as if he needs it to survive, “I feel so lost.” He leans his forehead against mine, closing his eyes and gripping the back of my hair like it’s his lifeline.
I reach my arms around his neck, rubbing my fingers through his hair like I have done so many times before. “I know, Holden. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I miss them, too. But I’m here for you; I’ll always be here for you.” I mean every word.
He grips my hair tighter now and looks up at me with questioning eyes. He shakes his head at me with a frustrated smile as if to tell me I don’t understand. I can feel his pain searing into me. Before I know what’s happening, his sweet, soft lips come crashing fiercely down onto mine with intense need. He pulls my body onto his, and then takes my face in his hands again, pulling me deeper into the kiss. My soul is singing as if to say this is exactly where I belong…right now, right here with Holden.
He pulls back, breathless. “I love you, Cam. I love you so fucking much.” He softly kisses my bottom lip, and then the top. He brushes his lips across mine, testing me. His tongue now sweeps across my lips, begging for entrance. I part my lips willingly, wanting to feel his tongue mixed with mine again. Holden is putting his heart into the kiss now, letting me know he wants me as badly as I want him.
I don’t know what to think. I can’t think. I pull back, trying to gain some control. We have both been drinking and are not thinking clearly, and now we ar
e practically on top of each other at the corner of the worn wicker bench. I start to sit up and push Holden off me, trying to get my bearings and not let something we will both regret happen. Recognizing my retreat, Holden once again takes my face in his hands, brushing his thumb across my lip the way he did when we were young, when we were in love.
“I need you, Cam. I love you. I love you so much. Don’t think. Just be with me. One last time, be with me, babe.” Not waiting for my answer, he kisses me again, and then lifts me up in his muscular arms. I can’t resist him any longer. When I’m with Holden, nothing ever matters; I lose all sense of myself. I can’t think of anything but his touch when we are together. I hate the fact that I still love him.
He throws open the sliding glass door leading us into his parents’ house, never breaking our kiss. We both know the way to his room with our eyes closed, and begin grasping at each other’s clothes in a frenzy, desperate to feel nothing but the pleasure we are finding in each other.
“God, I missed you. I missed you so much that it hurts.” Holden is again kissing me feverishly, making it hard for me to catch my breath. I fumble nervously, trying to unbutton his shirt. Holden is kissing my neck, nibbling his way along my chest and down to my breast, making every nerve in my body stand at attention. I breathe deeply, taking in the familiar scent of mint and cologne that always surrounds Holden, making me want to devour every part of him.
We made love that night, telling each other over and over we love each other. The next morning when I wake up in his bed, I roll over to see that he is gone. All that is left is an indent in the pillow where he slept covered with a note. I swallow hard opening it, knowing what it is going to say without even having to read it. It says:
Cam,
Thanks for being here when I needed you. You are always here for me when I need you and thank you for that. You will always be my rock. I am sorry if I hurt you by leaving without saying goodbye, but you know I was never good at those. I am sorry for putting you in the situation I did last night. I love you too much to do this to you. I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. You deserve someone who isn’t selfish and damaged like me. You deserve the world, Cam. You deserve the fucking fairy tale, and I can’t give that to you.
I didn’t have the heart to tell you last night, and I’m sure you’ll hate me for this, but I’m selling the house and moving to Chicago. I’ve been offered a position in a firm there, and I can’t be here anymore. There’s nothing left for me here now that my parents are gone. I wish you nothing but the best in life and hope you and Marcus get everything you want together. I am glad you have him to make you happy. Don’t let last night get to you—it was nothing worth ruining your relationship over. Think of it as our last goodbye.
Love always,
Holden
I crumple the paper and laugh sarcastically, not knowing what else to do. I’ll be dammed if I’m going to cry over that man again. Of course he left. Of course he did. He is such a coward…nothing but a selfish coward!
I scream into his empty house, wishing he could hear me. “Screw you, Holden Patrick! I will never fall for your bullshit again!”
Chapter One
December 24, 2011
Marcus calls Ellie and Sophie in to the kitchen to get Santa’s cookies and milk ready. I know that with Ellie being five, I only have a few more years left of her magical excitement during Christmas. Sophie is only two, so she’s still not really aware of the whole Christmas and Santa excitement that oozes from Ellie’s pores. All Sophie knows is that there’s a good chance she is going to get a Belle Disney doll tomorrow from Santa.
After Marcus and I got married six years ago, we always spend Christmas Eve at my parents’ house in Mantoloking. It is one of the few times a year I actually leave the safety and comfort the city has provided for me all these years. Christmas Day, after opening all of the presents, we usually drive back into the city to have dinner with the Hamiltons. There are times when I wish just once we would all get together to spend Christmas Day basking in our Christmas present hangover, but our parents were not what one would call the “best of friends.” My parents always keep polite conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton—they were used to small talk, being the owners of one of the most popular restaurants in all of New Jersey—but Mr. Hamilton always has a knack for making an undercutting comment to my dad that ruins the entire get-together.
Ellie and Sophie come running into the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear and wearing their Santa pajamas. Both girls are distinctly like each of us. Ellie’s brown wavy hair and bright, blue eyes hide her deep thoughts and inquisitive mind. Sophie is the picture of her dad with light wavy curls and deep brown eyes that sparkle when she smiles. She is innocent and hopeful, stubborn and opinionated, but always willing to compromise. Sophie jumps up into Marcus’s open arms and nuzzles into the crook of his neck. Ellie comes up to me and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Group hug!” Sophie yells, pulling us over to Marcus.
Marcus smiles up at me and cloaks his broad arms around the three of us. The girls giggle when Marcus begins tickling them, breaking us all apart. This is the Marcus I love. The fun-loving dad. Over the past few years, the stress of the family business has taken a toll on him. I never know if he is going to come home and start yelling at all of us about everything we’re doing wrong, or if he’s going to wrap us up in his arms and tell us how much he loves us. Moments like these have been few and far in between lately.
We put the girls to bed four times before they finally fell asleep, too excited for Santa to arrive. My parents help us get all of the presents out under the tree, lining up package after package ready to be opened in seconds. We all sit by the fire, having a nightcap before turning in for the night, reminiscing about all of the Christmases from the past. Marcus is unusually quiet while my dad told the story of Marcus’s first Christmas at the shore. It is a story Marcus always loves because he says it was the night he knew he was in love with me. Instead of adding the sweet details of how my dad wooed him that weekend as much as I did, he drinks solemnly from his whisky glass. Something he seems to be doing more of lately.
After my parents turn in, Marcus asks me to sit out in the living room with him a little longer. He’s now on his fourth Scotch and his detached demeanor seems to become more amplified with each sip he takes. It’s unlike Marcus to drink like this, much less drink at all.
“Camryn. I know this probably isn’t the time or place, but I can’t keep this in anymore,” he says suddenly as he begins to pace despondently in front of the fireplace.
His comment takes me completely off guard. Is something going on at work? Is Hamilton and Co. going under? Marcus’s stress level has been through the roof for at least a year. We have always lived a comfortable life and he’s never led on that we are in any kind of financial trouble. I left my job as a columnist at the New Yorker, my dream job, to be home with the girls and take care of our family because we could afford it. If we are in some sort of financial trouble, I can go back to work. I’ve luckily kept in contact with all of my friends in the industry.
“What is it, Marcus? Are you okay? Is it the business? We’ll be okay no matter what it is. We can get through anything together,” I say reassuringly.
“No, it’s not the business, Cam. Business is great.” He begins rubbing his face and eyes like he is trying to wipe away whatever is causing him so much pain. I want to calm his worries, but have no idea what can possibly be wrong. It’s Christmas; it is not the time to be having a life-altering conversation. That’s Parenting 101. I’m sure whatever is causing him this much stress has only been amplified by the Scotch.
Before I can take him in my arms, he finishes off his glass of Scotch, setting it down on the table, and continues to pace nervously. Suddenly he stops and looks right at me. “What has happened to us? We used to be so in love. Or maybe it’s I’ve always been so in love with you.”
I am completely taken aback. Marcus never dou
bts us. We are solid. We rarely fight; we are true partners in raising our children. What is happening? Confusion and shock begin taking over. Marcus was questioning us? One thing he never seemed to question was us. Marcus was, above all, always so affectionate towards me. He always tells me how beautiful I am, how sexy I am; even in his darkest moments, he always makes sure I know how much he loves me.
“I love you, Marcus. Do you still love me?” I am almost too afraid to ask. I’ve never questioned his love for me before; I’m beginning to wonder if it’s something I’ve taken for granted. I can’t help but wonder where this is coming from all of the sudden. It is Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake. This can’t be happening.
“Yes, I know you love me,” he says mockingly. “You love me as much as you can love anyone, or so you say. But maybe that’s not enough anymore. I want to be your epic love, not just the father of your children. I can see it in your eyes, Camryn! I’ve always seen it. You don’t love me the way I deserve to be loved. I was too scared to lose you to admit it before. But I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I don’t think I ever really had you.”
I don’t hesitate. “You are my epic love, or whatever the hell that is supposed to mean, Marcus. We have a family together. There is nothing more important than that. Ellie and Sophie’s happiness is what’s most important.” Tears are stinging my eyes. I try to push them back; it would make this conversation too real.
Marcus picks up his glass again, trying to suck the last drops of Scotch from the ice cubes. Sloppily, with shaking hands, he pours the rest of the bottle into his glass, and then drinks it all down as if trying to gain some courage. “What about my happiness, Camryn? The girls are getting older. We are still young and can make a clean break before things get ugly between us.”
Dust to Dust: A Broken Fairy Tale Page 2